Thorongil: Eagle of the Star
by Gwaeros
Summary: One-shot. A moment in the life of Aragorn as he serves Ecthelion under the guise of Thorongil. Please R&R.


**A/N: My first ever Lord of the Rings fanfiction. Nothing is mine except for the mistakes.**

"My lord? Thorongil?" Voices speak somewhere in the darkness, distant and unclear like the sound of birdsong through a great mist. "Thorongil! Awaken! Morning has come and the dread of night is no more!" The words hold no meaning for me; it is utterly dark in the world before my eyes. How then can it be morn, unless we are underground…? Nay, that cannot be. For were we not marching out to pursue the orcs that the scouts had discovered? Perhaps we were, but I can no longer recall where we were headed, and the thought slips from my mind and leaves it empty again, but for the nagging voices that penetrate my consciousness.

Ai, why must they call for me? I am weary, so weary, and I must sleep. Yet still the voices continue, rising and falling with the ebb and flow of a tide. And soon, though in the darkness I cannot tell if it a matter of minutes or hours, a new voice joins the chorus before me. A soft voice…a calming voice…Recognition flashes, and my thoughts turn immediately to the remainder of my men. Where are they? Are they injured?

"Ambush…orcs," words filter through the fog that stands between us, and fear stirs in my heart. I must waken, though I am weary, for there may still be work for me to do, and I would not leave my men to die whilst I linger in comfort! But alas, my eyelids feel so heavy, and the healer part of my brain registers that it should not be so hard for one to open his eyes. How bitter the struggle is, but I must not fail. For Estel I was named and thus hope I must cling to, though it may be no more than another title that I must hide behind.

Slowly, as I bend all my will to the task, I feel my eyelids flutter and, groaning with effort, I force them open. It occurs to me almost immediately that I should see light, yet no light reaches me. Panic grips me then, and I struggle weakly, but strong hands hold me down. The voices speak to me, but I do not heed them, fighting in vain against those who hold me. Why can I not see them? Am I, by some fell deed, struck blind? Do all my hopes end here, in this cursed darkness?

It is only when the little energy I have is all but spent, and I flop back bonelessly against the covers, that the shadow draws back from before my eyes and daylight reaches me. An ache settles in my head, and at first I see little more than smudged outlines of black and white, but as my vision adjusts the colours filter back one by one, until I can at last see those who called for me.

Two of my men sit in wooden chairs pulled up to the far side of the bed I lie in, and they grin broadly as I meet their eyes, reading relief in their gazes. And then it all floods back; the ambush as we rode back victorious to the citadel, rushing to save Daeron even as he was struck down by a wound to the stomach, the orc arrow I never saw… My breath catches in my throat and my hand moves slowly up to my shoulder. Feeling the bandages beneath my fingers, and the dull throb of pain at the pressure they create, I turn to my men.

"Daeron?" I enquire of them, fearing the worst, and my voice is scratchy and dry as though I had lain for many days in a fever. But I see the answer in their eyes, and I turn my face away in grief, mourning silently. I do not cry, but later, in private, I know that the tears that threaten will overwhelm me.

"We could not save him, though we tried. He was the only loss."

It is the healer who speaks, and I force myself to turn to him, beginning to raise myself up on an elbow. However it is not necessary, for at that moment he comes into my eye line. He is a thin man, tall and dark haired, and he reminds me of one of my rangers. Long have I been away from them, and I miss them still, but here I also command men, and many friends I have made, though the loss grows greater with each passing year. I feel the old anger welling up inside, and though I know the man means well, still I have to struggle to fight down the urge to glare at him, to tell him that though Daeron was the only loss he was a dear friend and he left behind a wife and daughter. Who now would they look to, now I had failed to save his life? If I had been stronger I could have helped him, and then maybe he would still be with us.

Once again my breath catches in my parched throat, and my own weakness catches up with me, coughs racking my body. Gasping, I force myself to sit up, and the pain that flares in my shoulder leaves me dizzy and confused. For long moments I fear that I will pass out in front of my men, then, as something settles against my back, the room slowly ceases to spin and I can breathe again, though my head hurts tenfold and my vision is fuzzy. A cup is pressed to my lips and I drink, swallowing the foul liquid with difficulty, though it grieves me that I should lie here and be tended to like a babe.

Slowly the pounding in my body settles down once again and I am pushed gently back against the sheets, but no medicine can ease the aching in my heart. It is one I am well used to, yet still I find it no easier to bear, though I know that in time the pain will ease. A sigh escapes me, and my hand moves once again to my shoulder, before I let it drop limp against the bed. I feel weak, my muscles useless, but though I despise it, the lethargy is to be expected. For indeed my body recalls the feel of orc poison and the fever that comes with it, and I know now that this is what ailed me. But I will mend, and though the healers will complain, I shall be on my feet in a day or two. But for now, we can all rest in the safety of the citadel. A comforting thought perhaps, but I find I cannot tear my mind from the ones who have fallen; though, as consciousness slips away, the worries diminish into the haze.

The healer speaks, and faces drift in front of my eyes as my men leave me to my rest. The room seems to sway, the bed a hammock beneath the trees of Imladris, and as my eyes close again Arwen rushes through the trees to greet me in my dreams, as she always does. The vision fades and fingers of warmth pull me down into sleep, and I surrender willingly, for here I can wander in comfort with my love, and leave the sorrow behind, if only for a few hours.

I am at peace.

**A/N: Please review, otherwise I don't know if what I'm doing is right.**


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